


Open Later

by ValentineSebastian



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bottom Freddie Mercury, Deacury, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Top John Deacon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineSebastian/pseuds/ValentineSebastian
Summary: John finds something he likes in one of Freddie's dirty magazines and forms an elaborate seduction plan around it.Fluff and filth, please enjoy <3
Relationships: John Deacon/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 49
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

In the dim kitchen they lingered, pressed against one another giggling and chatting playfully. Freddie was sat on the countertop, John was leaning into him between his legs. Freddie’s arms draped lavishly across John’s shoulders. The singer turned and pulled at his silver rings nonchalantly as they talked.

Finally, _finally,_ they could relax and begin uncoiling their tensed springs of secrecy. Seemingly countless hours of physical separation felt like torture to both of them. Their bandmates had no idea of the affair—or, if they did, they were discreet enough to not make it their business. The two valiantly attempted subtlety, but it wasn’t anywhere near “easy” for either man. Their mutual infatuation made it sickeningly difficult, but in turn made moments like these ever so sweeter.

The idea was to make brownies when they’d come back to Freddie’s flat after a late night at the studio. However, things never really seemed to go as planned after they’d been unable to give each other more than a casual glance for hours. They’d gotten as far as making the brownie mix, but as usual, intimate distractions eclipsed any culinary endeavor. _Really_ , they ought to know better by now. Their magnetism toward each other was paramount.

Two of John’s fingers rested between the singer’s lips, and suddenly it wasn’t as innocent as Freddie licking excess batter off of his fingers adorably anymore. _Was it ever meant to be anything other than sinful though?_ John reckoned not, noticing how wet and plump Freddie’s darkened pink lips looked around his fingers. His breath caught in his throat when he realized that Freddie was gazing at him with _that_ look.

John swallowed visibly, fluttering his lashes as he felt his pulse quicken—Freddie’s dark eyes had him pinned to the spot. He wondered if the heat he felt under his skin was visible.

“Um, hey Freddie … can I ask you something?” He tried not to shudder when he felt Freddie's tongue slide into the small space between his fingers.

Freddie raised his eyebrows, pulling off John's fingers with a coy smile and a wetly vivid, but quick, sucking noise.

The shift in John’s demeanor was as obvious as if he’d waved a white flag announcing surrender, if his face weren’t already a dead giveaway.

“Of course dear,” he batted his lashes languidly, “anything,” Freddie hummed with glinting, half-lidded eyes. He gazed at John (who was quite a bit shorter than him in this position), and with a flirty punctuated pose involving his shoulder, he hooked his legs around his hips.

The beguiling poetry of Freddie’s simple seduction, the bassist thought he could write volumes on it. John felt a rise in his chest and surged forth to kiss him, simultaneously tugging at the collar of Freddie’s black satin bomber jacket to pull him closer. Freddie melted into him easily with a satisfied hum.

John’s sudden need for closeness warmed and endeared Freddie. He yielded and reciprocated, allowing the slick movements of John’s warm eager lips and tongue to be the more dominant, and he felt an overwhelming rush within himself. 

An exaggerated exhale left the singer’s nose, followed by a baritone groan into John’s mouth that the bassist was not expecting. The aural texture, the _vibrations,_ left John ravenous for more. _More, more, ever more._ Even at their most intimate, John often fretted that he couldn’t ever possibly get enough of Freddie, not in this lifetime. Simply kissing him left John feeling spiritually high. He would definitely classify their intimacy as completely fulfilling.

With a coquettish smirk Freddie tethered John’s bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a soft, impatient whine from him. It wasn’t quite a bite, he just wanted to keep him from moving. _Well,_ that and to offer a silent affirmation that the younger man’s kiss was resoundingly successful in turning the singer into horny, pliant mush.

Freddie narrowed his eyes, the edges of his lips curling into a curious grin. “Tell me darling, what _is_ it?” He whispered, brushing said lips against John’s own. “What’s ~ on ~ your ~ mind?” Each syllable drawn out and metaphorically underlined as if he were wine-drunk. Freddie’s elegant fingers curled into the soft hair at the back of John’s neck, sending a shiver throughout the younger man.

They separated to look at each other and John smiled, biting his lip. If Freddie didn’t know better, he’d think he looked embarrassed. “Mmm, actually. Let me show you something.”

Freddie slid off the counter–his slippery satin pants making it too easy–and John excitedly tugged him toward the bedroom. Freddie nearly tripped on a rug when his platformed heel caught on the fringe, not paying attention to his footwork. Or perhaps he was a bit unstable from the erratic lust now humming through his blood like a song echoing through a concert hall.

John grimaced. “Oh God-, I’m sorry Freddie, are you ok?”

“Y- yes dear, of course!” He was embarrassed, truth be told, but he couldn’t stand looking like a clumsy dunce so he tried to play it cool. “You seem a bit eager sweetheart, what is this about?”

They entered the bedroom. John turned and sat a curious, silent Freddie on the edge of the bed. “Wait here,” he asked, holding a finger up and turning on his heel. Freddie removed his boots, tossing them toward his closet, never taking his curious eyes off of John. The bassist rummaged through the side-table drawer on “his” side of Freddie’s bed. Freddie had to stifle a cough, realizing that John was rifling through his pile of old dirty magazines (the newer ones were on “his” side of the bed, but the pile was getting so large he had to split them).

 _What on earth is he doing?_ Freddie wondered, intrigued.

“Ah ... I think it’s in this one.” John quickly flipped through the pages mumbling to himself, clearly looking for something in particular. Knowing that John had been looking through his filthy magazines and was seemingly unbothered made Freddie’s heart race. He found himself raising his eyebrows as he watched his boyfriend flip through the pages, a bit chuffed that he apparently enjoyed illicit gay literature and wasn’t even shy about it.

“Here, Freddie. Look at this.” John handed him the magazine. It was opened to a spread that Freddie knew intimately. He’d looked at these himself many times. He’d done more than just look at them–he’d fully fantasized about such scenarios. Freddie blinked, feeling his throat go dry. He wasn’t quite sure what John was suggesting. Or rather, perhaps he didn’t want to _allow_ himself to believe it and potentially have his vulgar hopes dashed.

“What’s this then?” Freddie looked to John with deviously narrowed eyes, puzzled. The singer already knew these pictures, he knew every stinking caption. He knew every sleazy, badly worded phrase in the damned spread, but that wasn’t at all what Freddie was actually asking.

“It’s … I mean. Um,” John blinked, then coughed. He was bold enough to bring this up but apparently didn’t have the vocabulary for saying kinky things out loud. It was endlessly amusing to Freddie that John could and absolutely _had_ said very lewd and surprising things to him in the heat of the moment, but his temerity and eloquence in such matters evaporated in the cold light of casual talk.

“Out with it dear,” a playful grin spread across Freddie’s face. He wasn’t going to make this easy. _Oh no._ Frustrating John with sex talk was enormously fun for Freddie.

“Do you like this?” John blurted, pointing to a lithe, young, blindfolded man. His thighs were tied to his ankles, hands restrained behind his back, his mouth full of cock. It looked like he’d been used for hours judging by his reddened skin and the semen splattered across his chin and stomach. His strained erection was dark and hard, the poor guy hadn’t received any kind of release yet.

Freddie really wanted to play it cool, but his hair stood on end at the implications. He felt his cheeks start to burn. He attempted appearing nonchalant and naive, though. “Clearly. Do you see how ratty these pages are darling? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked at these.” He snickered, “Who doesn’t like looking at _blowjobs_?”

“Well _yes,_ but. That’s not … the point. Um.” John stammered, clearing his throat. He didn’t want to say it. He’d hoped Freddie would just _get it._ John was more what he would consider a man of action, not so much _words._

“I’m not sure I follow, honey!” Freddie smiled sweetly and cocked his head. “Do you like this guy or something? What are you trying to tell me?”

Suddenly it hit him. _Freddie was fucking with him._

John didn’t think it was very cute or considerate of Freddie to take pleasure in watching him squirm like that. The defiant streak in John was not easy to lure out of hiding (for Freddie at least–because John was so naturally sweet on him), but when it showed itself, it overrode any bothersome, lingering apprehensions.

“You’re a real fucker, you know that?” His tone was low, lilting but challenging. John grabbed the magazine from a very surprised Freddie and tossed it across the bed.

“Wh-,” Freddie tried, eyes wide. 

John pressed his knee between Freddie’s thighs, abruptly spreading them apart. He pushed him back onto the mattress, soon following with his lips. Freddie’s eyes blew wide with delighted surprise, he arched his back, groaning in supplication. John had a foot on the floor, his knee remained splitting Freddie’s legs, most of his body weight firmly distributed onto Freddie’s lower region. John had propped himself up a bit, left arm planted into the bedding above Freddie’s right shoulder. His free hand moved to grasp the back of Freddie’s neck, pulling him closer into a fervent, impassioned kiss. John’s hot, quick tongue flicked into Freddie’s parted mouth, and the responsive moan that escaped the singer was nothing short of decadent. John pushed his shirt up, caressing his sun-kissed brown skin, wanting to feel and taste all of him at once. 

Freddie had goosebumps, and the bassist relished in it. He felt how the singer’s skin prickled against his warm tongue and it drove him into a sensory frenzy. John took great pride in how easily the singer’s body responded to him, and so eagerly.

“I asked if you _liked_ that.” John’s mouth went to his nipple and he sucked hard with a hungry groan. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m asking, Freddie,” he made his way back to his boyfriend’s mouth, pausing to press his lips into the soft skin of the singer’s velveteen throat. The rough texture of Freddie’s jaw skipped and pulled at John’s needy lips as he kissed and licked, continuing up his stubbly jawline toward his mouth.

 _“Yes_ but,” Freddie attempted getting words out between rough, wet kisses. “What _part_ of it, dear?” Freddie’s breath was already short. John displaying any sort of dominance over him left him in wordless, stupefying ruins with very little effort.

John pulled away, rolling his eyes, “Freddie,” he groaned, but the singer immediately pulled him back to his greedy mouth. Freddie could feel the bassist smiling against his lips. “Stop playing with me,” John whispered. Freddie groaned, snaking a hand around to the nape of his neck, pulling him close for another deep, needy kiss. Their tongues pushed and licked, sliding against and circling one another roughly. John groaned in response, pushing his knee closer to the heat of Freddie’s crotch.

The singer pulled back, fluttering his eyes shut with a breathy moan. “I’m not dear … I just want to hear you fucking _say_ it.” He wrapped a loose tendril of John’s hair around his finger, blinking at the breathless younger man hovering above him. John’s lips were so red and wet that Freddie didn’t even know what he was saying; his only clear and _coherent_ thought was _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._ Any thought beyond that was fuzzy, irrational, and substantially more indecent.

He tried to pull his thoughts together, but it was hard with John looking how he looked, with such raw need in his eyes. Freddie exhaled and propped himself on his elbows, pulling John by the collar so that he could whisper close to his ear, “John … tell me exactly what you want.”

A lewd groan escaped John before he opened his eyes and crushed his lips against Freddie’s again. As he licked into Freddie’s hot mouth, his long fingers had expertly slid their way into his pants. He palmed at Freddie’s already leaking erection before wrapping his hand around it firmly. Freddie cried out with a gasp as John’s thumb circled the head of his cock, smearing viscous precum around the tip.

“I ...," John stopped momentarily to take in the beautiful breathless ecstasy on Freddie’s face, just appreciating for a moment how he curled into his grasp, defenseless and needy. With a satisfied groan he cupped his jaw, kissing his open mouth before continuing. “I want to tie you up.”

“ _John,”_ Freddie gasped, pumping his cock into the bassist’s warm, wet grip. He tensed, digging his nails into John’s thigh, still firmly shoved between his legs.

“I want to tie you up and _use_ you,” John said on an exhale. Freddie whined at his use of such lewd words, squirming in his grip. “I want to make you so delirious and desperate for my cock that you can’t speak,” he said slowly, enjoying every sharp ecstatic gasp spilling from Freddie’s throat as the singer rutted against him. His boyfriend's moans were, quite plainly, exquisite.

John’s hand went to Freddie’s hair and he caressed the scalp near his ear, dragging a finger down to his jawline, tracing his lips with a dry finger. “Then I want to _fuck_ you,” He whispered, gazing into his eyes. “I want to fuck you until you cum, just from being _fucked.”_

Freddie thought he might sob, it was filthy, it was beautiful. It was absolutely God damned everything.

“Oh my God. Fuck. _Fuck.”_ Freddie was a breathless senseless mess, whimpering, jamming himself into John’s hand as rough and deep as he could. The bassist found himself flustered at the amount of slippery liquid Freddie’s blushing erection offered him so generously.

“Would you like that?” John whispered teasingly, slipping his fingers through the fresh wetness at the slit of Freddie’s cock, causing the singer to shudder and jerk his hips with an involuntary whine. “Do you want me to fuck you hard and make you cum?” Freddies eyes were pinched closed with ecstasy, he could only nod, trembling with base delight.

With that, John removed his hand so he could unbutton Freddie’s pants and free his trapped arousal. He easily slid Freddie’s garments over his prominent hip bones, and as Freddie’s pants came off, he spread himself before John. He licked his lips wolfishly at the striking sight of Freddie looking so exposed and needy. So unapologetically … _dirty_ _._ The man looked divine. Beautiful and sinful, like the physical embodiment of sex itself.

His impossibly long legs were spread, displaying his throbbing cock that was already leaking onto his stomach. It was flushed dark and shiny, as were his lips.

His piercing, night-sky eyes were dusky, wordlessly speaking of lust from beneath his prominent brow; his jaw hung open as he leaned back on his elbows, panting, trying to catch his breath. His thick, swirling body hair was such a sharp and lovely contrast to his soft beige skin.

Freddie was so fucking worked up. It was obvious just looking at him that he was on a knife's edge; it would take nothing at all to tip him beyond the point of no return.

All of him looked so deliciously lurid and inviting. John was utterly disarmed by his appearance; he felt his own erection pulsing, weeping in his tight jeans pressed uncomfortably against his leg.

John finally moved, detaching himself from his starstruck reverie. He took his time settling between Freddie’s thighs. He took Freddie’s hand and placed it on his clothed erection. “Feel it,” he commanded. John didn’t let go of the singer’s hand, he just held it there. “I want you to know what you’re responsible for.” Freddie groaned as he stroked at John’s warm length. The need to suck him off right there and then was torturous.

“You don’t get to see it though.” John considered that he might regret it, but instead decided to lean into his conviction—he knew Freddie would be jerking off to this scenario later, and to him it was more than worth it.

The singer panted, whining pathetically while palming at the hard form pressed against John’s leg. John flexed his cock, causing Freddie to whimper with intensely frustrating need.

Freddie groaned, spreading his legs further and wrapping them around John, trying to pull him in close to get some friction. His head felt noisy, like snow on a badly tuned television.

“I _need_ you … oh God, John, I need you inside me,” Freddie nearly sobbed trying to push the words out. He dug his heels into whatever part of John he could find purchase.

 _“Mmm,”_ the bassist responded, leaning into his boyfriend, pressing him further into the mattress. “Open your mouth for me.”

Freddie rocked against him and parted his lips with a filthy moan. He slid out his tongue, resting it against his lips and awaited _whatever_ it was that John had in mind.

It was his fingers, actually. And he didn’t require Freddie’s mouth for long.

John’s slicked fingers pressed against Freddie’s warm tight hole, teasing it, wetting it. Freddie gasped—and John’s mouth was on his again without missing a beat. They moaned in unison into each other’s mouths. As Freddie’s body softened, John was able to push his fingers further into his contracting warmth, the singer mewled at the sensation. His cock throbbed, pressed against his stomach by John’s forearm.

 _“Freddie,”_ John growled low into his ear, sinking two fingers deeper into his tight hole. The singer’s eyes rolled back and he let out a deep groan. John continued sucking on his earlobe, softly moaning into Freddie’s ear as he finger fucked him into a carnal frenzy.

John’s slim, experienced fingers knew Freddie’s body well. They slid repeatedly against the singer’s prostate and Freddie cried out a novel's worth of filthy swears. He wasn’t sure to whom he was swearing and whether they were gods or _demons_ , nor did he care, but Freddie relocated some of the falsetto that he thought he’d lost in the past weeks.

The singer was too far gone, and he knew that any direct attention to his genitals would surely end in … well, it would be a very fast ending.

And when John finally wrapped his warm wet palm around Freddie’s cock, still fucking him with his other hand, he groaned _“Cum for me,”_ in the singer’s ear- that’s really all it took. And Freddie did not disappoint.

“John, oh God, … _John_ ,” his voice cracked. Freddie’s body shuddered and wracked as he met his climax. Warm, slippery cum shot out in thin white strands onto his stomach. John groaned as he watched it seep between his fingers, but he was relentless; he wanted more. Freddie choked out a weak whine as he continued thrusting into John’s wet fist. John kept pumping at him through his peak, thrumming two fingers against his prostate steadily.

Freddie cried out and shook, completely emptying himself; his cock throbbed and twitched in John’s hand while he continued fingering him. He arched and bowed in his grip, trembling, stuttering nonsense. He was delirious with ecstasy.

John wasn't sure how he had kept it together. If he hadn’t been biting his own lip so damned hard to distract himself, he was certain he would’ve finished too from witnessing that beautiful mess unravel. Feeling Freddie’s muscles tighten, clenching down around his fingers as he came would’ve done it. As if the other audio and visuals wouldn’t have been enough.

~ ~ ~

Pleased with his handiwork, John gently toweled away the mess on Freddie's stomach and was quick to locate some water for them both. He offered some to Freddie, who drank it all down graciously.

Freddie giggled (probably still bashfully amused at John’s words) and thanked him for the water and stellar cleanup job, but didn’t really have much else to say otherwise. Of course, John didn't mind. Knowing how chatty Freddie usually was meant he'd done really well, most likely.

The singer's head was swimming with drowsiness and an endorphinous overload. It was clear that he was quite knackered after the long night.

After coming down, Freddie felt very in need of love. His eyebrows furrowed and he called out John’s name with a small voice. John pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, pressing a soft kiss to his brow.

“I love you, Freddie.” He whispered into his sweaty fringe.

“I love you so much,” Freddie murmured, curling into him in a drowsy haze. John stroked his hair and (attempted to) read a book while doing so, allowing the domesticity of it all to serenely envelop them until Freddie fell asleep.

He nearly dozed off too, then his eyes shot open. _The brownie mix_.

He gently untangled himself from Freddie’s grasp and slipped out of bed quietly. Far be it from him to let _brownie mix_ go to waste … besides, he needed a distraction from his fucking boner.

~ ~ ~

The mix was already made, of course. All he had to do was dump it into the glass dish and stick it in the oven. They had been _so_ close to actually accomplishing something this time, and _yet …_ and yet. John could only huff with a small grin.

He set an alarm on his watch, they ought to be done in thirty minutes. He didn’t even want to eat them tonight. But to let them go to waste seemed ridiculous. Besides, he knew Freddie would be delighted to see them waiting for him in the morning.

Well, now what? _Fuck._ He didn’t want to wake Freddie up by turning on the TV … he wasn’t quite adjusted to being alone at his flat yet. Not that he thought Freddie would mind of course, he just didn’t want to startle him awake with worries of an intruder or something.

And no, his annoying boner had not gone away. It was still embarrassingly hard, he’d adjusted it so that it was trapped under the elastic of his briefs against his stomach, but it kept twitching. His head felt heavy, focused but cumbersome at the same time.

 _God._ His mind really was set on fire. Thoughts of restraining Freddie and using him like a cheap whore (a beloved one, mind you) had his head swimming.

An idea entered his mind when he’d glanced at the Polaroid Land Camera sitting on top of Freddie’s lavish new sound system. His heart raced, imagining the sheer coquettish gall it would take to get himself to do it. He swallowed, unsure whether this was hornily ridiculous or … well, hornily _worthwhile._

 _Was Freddie’s clock always this loud?_ The ticking seemed to be mocking him as he struggled with indecisiveness and embarrassment. He glanced at the alarm on his watch. Only six minutes had passed. 

_Yes,_ there was still time. 

He sighed, unsure if he was guiltily _resigning_ to this idea or if he was genuinely full of lusty conviction. He knew he’d cum fast, faster than the brownies being a burn risk at least. His persistent arousal only emboldened him, and really, his secret penchant for exhibitionism won out ultimately. 

_Fuck it,_ he thought, _Freddie would love this_. He smirked to himself as he rose off the couch. After retrieving the camera, he quietly made his way to the guest room, palming his erection through his pants.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curse you, John Deacon.

_(Two weeks later.)_

“When will you be back?” John crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway, watching Freddie pull his socks on in a frantic rush.

Freddie exhaled briskly with an upward huff, causing his fringe to fly away from his forehead. “God. Who knows. I expect by Thursday, but you know how these things are.” He rolled his eyes and glanced at John apologetically. “I’m sorry dear, I know we had plans.”

“It’s okay Freddie. I do know how these things are.” He watched as Freddie fought with his tight leather boots, kicking the floor so that his heel would slip into place. “Err, what exactly are you doing?”

Freddie looked at him with a goofy smile. “What does it look like, dear?” He chuckled. “I’m losing a battle with these fucking boots!” And with that, his heel sunk in with a loud _chunk._

John chuckled. “Not _that,_ I mean, what are you doing with Elektra?”

“Oh! Shit ... I don’t actually know. A radio promo I think? I don’t know why I couldn’t have recorded it from home if so. Or maybe it’s an interview with a DJ? Hell, it might be meeting the king of France for all I know. I’m sure I’ll be briefed on the plane. It’s all such a blur now, honestly.”

John gave a reactionary, rather melancholy smile. He wouldn’t ever announce it, but he wasn’t exactly happy about this _Freddie Going Out of Town_ business. He’d been away more frequently lately and truthfully, John missed him more than ever. This errant obligatory side stuff was good for the band of course … and John felt selfish for feeling these things, but what could he do? He loved the man, it couldn’t be helped. He supposed he could go with them whether he was invited or not, but this time he simply had too much bloody work to do, financially speaking.

The silver lining here was that Freddie’s returns were always exhilarating. Distance seemed to make their effervescent lust for each other grow exponentially. Their lovemaking and intimacy in general consistently exceeded John’s expectations when Freddie returned. He felt a great sense of gratitude and luck every time he put any thought toward what an enthusiastic and romantic lover he was graced with.

Freddie really was insatiable in the bedroom, and John had to admit that it was rubbing off on him, too. He couldn’t get enough of his fuzzy boyfriend’s warm, lean body. John wanted to have his hands and lips on him pretty much always; it felt like a stupid waste not to.

Freddie stood up and stamped his heels a few times in an effort to make his boots more comfortable. He passed John, stopping to squeeze his arm and leave a kiss on his shoulder en route to the mirror for a final glance before taking off to the airport.

“Will you be staying here until I return, darling?” He glanced at John in the mirror while fussing with his hair.

John bit his lip a little bashfully and turned his gaze to the carpet. “I’d like to actually ... if you don’t mind, of course, Freddie.”

Freddie walked over and wrapped his arms around his neck. “What’s mine is yours, sweetheart. Stay as long as you’d like. Eat all my food. Masturbate in every room. Make all my paintings crooked if it pleases you. Whatever you want, dear.”

John laughed, pulling him close around the waist. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more than you can imagine, love. I don’t think it’ll be very long, though. I’ll call you right when I get there.” He pushed a lock of John’s hair behind his shoulder, then kissed his nose. Then his neck. “You’re so pretty John, you know that?”

“Yes,” he smirked, gently grabbing then kissing Freddie’s fingers. Freddie's lips on his neck made him shiver. “And you’d better call. I’ll worry.”

“Cheeky! And oh, Roger’s going with me dear, I’ll be _fine.”_

John cocked his eyebrows. “Like I said, I’ll worry. Roger isn’t exactly a reason to be less worried.”

“I reckon that’s true. But don’t worry, I promise all will be fine! I won’t get into trouble.”

John narrowed his eyes playfully at Freddie, “I’m more worried about trouble getting into you.”

Freddie slapped him playfully and scoffed. “Gay jokes is it now?! John please. I belong to you and only you now, you know that.”

“You’d better,” he grinned, then pulled him in close for a possessive, deep kiss. The intensity of it left Freddie breathless when he’d pulled away, and the singer furrowed his brow at the separation.

 _“Noooo_ … do I really have to go?” 

“Sadly yes. The car will be here any second.”

“Can’t it wait? I want you to make love to me. Or hell, just _fuck_ me! Right now.” He frowned and forced himself to refrain from stamping his heel petulantly. “Right now John.” He couldn’t decide whether to pout or be seductive. He _knew_ he had to leave, but kissing John effortlessly turned him on, and in turn, it turned his conviction and decision making skills _off._

Any sort of intimacy with John always made him feel decadently desired and like nothing short of royalty. It was obvious that when Freddie was in his arms, he was John’s entire world. He gleamed with adoration and Freddie allowed himself to be lavishly enrobed in that love every single time.

“Shhh … I know Freddie,” John said with a sympathetic smile, pushing a thick clump of curls behind Freddie’s ear. “When you return, I’ll fuck you silly.”

Freddie bit his lip, gloomily peering into John’s eyes. “Do you promise?”

John raised his eyebrows and nodded, squeezing Freddie’s ass through his tight white pants with a defeated grin. “It’s not as if I don’t want to right _now.”_

Freddie looked genuinely miserable with need. He took John’s hand and snugged it to his crotch. “How can I go anywhere like this? Look what you’ve done to me, John!”

John pressed his palm against Freddie’s hardness and squeezed, pulling in a ragged breath through his teeth. _This wasn’t fair._ He wanted Freddie so badly that it was nearly physically painful. “You’ll live,” he breathed out. He smiled and kissed his boyfriend again, groaning into his mouth when Freddie dared grind himself against his palm. “Make sure you’re this hard for me when you return.”

Freddie stopped moving suddenly. _“John._ Darling. Are you really expecting me to keep this hardon for days?” He blinked, looking totally serious.

The bassist smiled and licked his lips, glancing toward the floor. “Mmh no, not at all. I fully expect you to get off thinking of me.”

 _“Oh my God._ What has gotten into you John? I can’t believe you’re making _me_ blush.” Freddie pressed the back of his hand to his forehead as if he were about to faint. “Oh, stop it please! Stop making me think of sex right now, this is torture. I really must go,” Freddie pulled away to drag his luggage to the door. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to jerk off in the fucking car!”

John laughed so abruptly that it caused him to snort. “Please don’t Freddie, that poor man would have to clean it up.”

Freddie scoffed. “Don’t be crude, dear, I’d do it into a handkerchief at least.”

_“Freddie!”_

“I won’t _really!”_ Freddie looked at John incredulously. _“Goodness._ I’ll wait to do it on the plane if I must.”

John was laughing, then abruptly stopped. His eyes blew wide. “Oh … shit. Uh, stay right there Freddie … don’t go yet.” 

So Freddie stood, blinking and flummoxed.

The bassist returned a moment later with an envelope. “This is for _you.”_ He handed Freddie the white envelope. It had a ballpoint drawing of a heart on the back, he turned it in his hands. On the front, the words _Open Later_ were inscribed, and smaller- ( _I mean it, later)._

Freddie was immediately chuffed. And intrigued. _A love letter?_ It felt oddly heavy though … what on earth? Suddenly he couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear. “What is _this_ , dear?”

For some reason, John was blushing, furiously. He held Freddie’s hand between both of his. “Please don't let anyone else see this … and promise you won't open it until you’re on the plane home. And in private.”

“On the plane _home?”_ he whined. Freddie did not want to wait. But he figured that John must have something quite special up his sleeve, something beyond the expected. “Oh, _alright.”_ he conceded. Freddie did love a surprise (a surprise that he had control over, at least).

“I think you’ll find it worth the wait, Freddie.” And from the way that John was blushing and unable to meet Freddie’s eyes, it convinced him that it most definitely would be worth the wait. He decided to try and use some self control for once, this would be a challenge.

“You’re so thoughtful, John. Thank you so much sweetheart. Come here and hug me, I should really go.”

John pulled him in tight and inhaled the soft warm scent of his hair one last time. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone and he really didn’t want him to leave.

“I love you, Freddie.”

“I love you too. I’ll miss you terribly, my darling. My sweet little nymph. Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?”

“No. I’ll probably wilt from sorrow. If you can’t find me when you return, be sure to check the garden.”

“The garden? What, why?”

“Oh, you know. I’ll be laying there in the dirt under the magnolia tree, clutching a photo of you. Most likely crying for days on end. Inconsolable.”

Freddie frowned. “Oh my God John, you’re so silly. You’re not one for drama!” he paused. _“But that is terribly precious,”_ he added under his breath.

“You’re the _only_ thing that makes me _dramatic,_ Freddie. You just haven’t seen much of it.” He winked at the singer. “I hide it well.”

“Is that a threat? Oh, you’re so ridiculous darling.” he planted sweet little kisses all over John’s face between his hands, and the bassist could only giggle with a broad, genuine smile. He really did love Freddie, it was impossible to mask. “Okay, sweetie. I really must go. You take care of yourself alright? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Go on, get out of here.” John kissed his nose, and Freddie smiled at him, then proceeded to drag his suitcase out of the front door. It didn’t have wheels. He was literally dragging it by an attached belt. John could only snicker at the sight. He’d offer to carry it but Freddie seemed quite proud of his little invention. “And don’t forget to read my note!”

Freddie stopped, turning to look at him excitedly.

“No Freddie! You have to wait. Just … don’t forget.” Freddie stuck out his bottom lip. “And don’t look at me like that!”

Freddie pouted as the driver shoved his suitcase into the trunk. He glanced at John with arms crossed and couldn’t help but break a smile. John wagged a finger at him as a warning and Freddie rolled his eyes. He got into the back seat and rolled down the window.

John waved from the doorway, Freddie replied by making a heart with his fingers.

As he watched the retreating form of the taxi pulling his boyfriend ever farther from him, a bit of embarrassed anxiety crept up. He sighed, rubbing his neck. _Ah, well._ He conceded. _It’s set into motion now, all I can do is wait._

~~~

Freddie and Roger were only in Berlin for four days. Elektra had set up a meet and greet for album promotion at a big radio station there after an on-air interview with them both. They had their fun, they were treated well, but ultimately they were just exhausted and wanted to be home. Thankfully, the flight was a short one.

Roger sat next to Freddie, which was fine and normal. It was their nature to gab and gossip together. Roger loved making Freddie laugh, it was something he took great joy in. He was a good, old friend. He was a good drinker too, he’d already downed two cocktails on the short flight.

“Freddie.” He said, staring him in the eye intensely.

The singer blinked at him, suddenly feeling put on the spot. “What’s wrong, darling?” 

“I have to take a shit,” Roger stated bluntly. “Please move.”

Freddie snorted out a louder-than-intended laugh, pulling his legs in so the drummer could pass. “Well, as they say, _‘A band that eats together, shits together,’_ darling.” 

“Do you want to come with me to the loo Fred? Is that what you’re saying?” He stood in front of him, basically announcing this shit business to the entirety of first class.

“Not this time, but do keep the seat warm dear.”

Roger waved him off and made his way down the aisle to the loo. Freddie actually wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, and that made it even more funny.

Freddie’s lips were annoyingly dry and in need of lip balm, Freddie assumed it was the elevation. He reached for his bag to retrieve it. As he rummaged in the side pocket, an envelope with a heart drawing on it caught his eye and he tensed, his movements completely stilled.

 _How had he forgotten?_ He was honestly glad he’d forgotten because he knew that he’d’ve opened it sooner and he didn’t want to disappoint John. How would he be able to lie about it? He put it in the pocket with his lip balm to keep it out of sight and it actually worked. Freddie felt like he’d won, against himself. _That smart, decent past Freddie,_ he silently jubilated.

He slid a finger under the tape fastening the small overstuffed envelope, and the flap flipped open from strain. _Oh please let Roger stay in the loo for a while,_ he pleaded to whatever entity might be listening. 

Freddie gulped, letting out an exhale before looking.

It was full of … _Polaroids?_ A flash of bare leg peeked from the opening of the envelope and Freddie felt every bit of oxygen leave his lungs. He swore he detected a glint of translucent white liquid on the small bit of leg he’d seen. He glanced around in a slight panic, making sure no extra eyes were upon him before continuing. 

This (unfortunately), was no private jet. He and Roger were in first class, of course, leaving plenty of opportunities for prying eyes. With a shaky breath he pulled a folded note from the envelope, then closed the flap hastily. His throat was dry and his hands trembled with anticipation. John had never done _anything_ like this, so even the small bit he’d seen really knocked his fucking socks off, frankly.

> _Hey._
> 
> _I was thinking of you and made a bit of a mess. I hope this makes you so horny that your cock is a nuisance the entire way home. Not sorry. Stay hard for me, I have plans. I’m aching to touch you again._
> 
> _I love you,_
> 
> _– J._
> 
> _PS. I’m sorry for using the last of your film._
> 
> _PPS. I found some beautiful, strong ribbon that I think you’ll approve of._

Freddie could only blink. He swallowed, tucking the lascivious note back into the envelope and quietly shoving all of it into his coat pocket. He couldn’t even look at the photos yet. He didn’t feel mentally prepared—not only that, Roger would be back soon.

“What’d you put in your pocket?” Roger asked from behind him, standing in the aisle.

Freddie pulled in his legs again to allow him to pass.

“Oh, umm! A fan slipped me a love note.” He cleared his throat. His heart was racing. How much did Roger even see? Surely not much, he hoped. And what he’d said wasn’t exactly a lie. John would consider himself a fan of Freddie, certainly.

“How sweet! Can I read it?” Roger asked, flashing a full toothy smile at the singer.

“No Roger! It’s pornographic!” Freddie whispered.

“What! Let me see! That just makes me want to read it more!” The drummer pouted at him.

Freddie felt the blood leave his face. He cleared his throat, “Roger … honey, it’s _gay.”_

Roger furrowed his brow. “Oh,” he looked crestfallen. "Well that's okay. I still want to read it!"

“My goodness you’re nosy. And _loud.”_ Freddie chided.

“As if we don’t always talk about this shit Fred! Come on. You’re always prying about my sex stuff.”

“I suppose that’s true, but I am still a bit new to this whole _openly_ _gay_ thing and find it somewhat hard to talk about to anyone so cavalierly.”

“Even me?! I’m hurt, Freddie.” Roger whispered in falsetto.

The singer sighed. “Roger, _please._ I would talk to you before anyone and you bloody well know that, you silly bastard. We’re on a full flight though, do I really need to explain this here and now?” Roger stuck out his lip and lowered his sunglasses. He was being ridiculous and perhaps a bit drunkenly so, but Freddie softened. He wasn’t actually annoyed at him. But that damned envelope was burning a hole in his pocket and he very much wanted to go take a look at those pictures in private, before that metaphorical hole became big enough for the envelope to fall through.

“Roger, dear, do you need more peanuts? Another cocktail perhaps?”

“Maybe,” he sulked, crossing his arms.

Freddie summoned a stewardess and ordered him some refreshments, then made a break for the loo. Roger would be fine.

~ ~ ~

Freddie shut the door behind him with a soft click. He flicked the lock and immediately dug out his prize. He gasped audibly as he slowly looked through the stack, the envelope dropped to the floor. He had to take a seat to catch his breath. 

What he held in his hands was a chronological sequence of John pleasuring himself. The hair on Freddie’s neck and arms stood up.

The sequence, as follows: 

  * The outline of John’s erection, clothed. It was a close-up and the visible details left nothing to the imagination, even through his denim jeans.
  * Pants unzipped. The pink head of his cock peeking above the elastic of his underwear. A tempting, generous bead of wetness at the tip, threatening to roll down the backside of his arousal.
  * John in front of a mirror, gripping himself. Pants and undergarments shoved to his knees. He was looking at it in his hand, biting his lip with blushed cheeks. It made Freddie's cock twitch.
  * A closeup of his cock in his hand. His fingers covered in spit. Or lube. Freddie wasn’t certain and did not care which it was. It was hard and wet and that’s all that mattered.
  * John’s face. His eyes were pressed shut and brows furrowed, his mouth wide open. His tongue pushed out flatly, as if ready to receive a load to his mouth. It was a desperate, slutty expression. It was the same one he made when Freddie did just that. The same needy, wet tongue he’d pressed his cock against and finished himself off onto countless times. Countless, yet never enough. This photo somehow made Freddie blush, even more than the truly explicit ones. He hadn’t been aware of how tight his pants felt until now. His erection throbbed against his leg. _Oh, no._
  * John’s hand covered in semen, squeezing his erect, freshly spent cock. It was red and wet, and impossibly tempting. Freddie wanted so badly to be feeling it in his hands. There was cum splattered on his stomach and thigh too, this must’ve been the photo Freddie got a glimpse of. His breathing was shallow, head swimming.
  * The last photo seemed out of order. But at the same time not at all. It was John’s legs and cock, he was splayed open. Sheer, black thigh-high stockings and a black velvet ribbon with a cute bow around his erection. Clearly this was before he’d climaxed. Perhaps even a different day. His dick was blushing beautifully, such a stark contrast to the black ribbon. It accentuated the porcelain pinkness of it so perfectly. This one had a caption, it read: “ _Please touch me.”_



Freddie was rendered immobile. He closed his eyes just to stabilize his breathing, not knowing at all how to act after this. He knew his boner wouldn’t be going anywhere, as requested by John. Thankfully he had a longer than usual coat on. He leaned to retrieve the fallen envelope then stood and adjusted his erection to be as inconspicuous as possible, but it was a _task._ He was rarely, if ever, this hard. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so virile and ready to fuck; and stuck in a situation where he knew he couldn’t. And knowing that his partner wanted him suffering and dripping fucking hard like this? 

_Fuck._

Freddie hadn’t decided whether it was ingeniously devious or straight up cruel. Freddie supposed it was both, really. What a _bitch_ John was for doing this to him. And bless him for it.

_Oh, God. Dear fucking Lord. John. John. John._

Freddie's head felt full; full of helium perhaps. All he could think of was touching his boyfriend. He wanted to devour him, ravish him, make love to him for a week straight ... he didn’t even know what. He wanted it all, and he wanted to do it over and over again. Lewd thoughts, warm thoughts, completely possessed him.

Nobody had ever done something like this for Freddie. It was always him setting up perverse little surprises for his partners. He wasn’t sure whether to weep with gratitude or to weep with the strongest physical urges he’d ever experienced in his adult life.

He needed to get off this plane and into John’s arms and pants, right now.

Once he’d regained enough composure to return to his assigned seat, Freddie experienced the longest twenty minutes of his entire life. After those twenty minutes were over, he had to suffer waiting on his blasted bloody luggage. Then an absolutely dreadful half hour commute to his flat. He’d told the driver to kindly _hurry the fuck up,_ but the London traffic was unforgiving. He didn’t think he’d processed a single fucking word Roger had said the entire time. Luckily, Roger was tipsy enough to not notice.

Freddie exited the vehicle and said his goodbyes to Roger, asking their driver to make sure his friend made it into his house safely.

It was unseasonably cold outside, and dark. He didn’t see much light from his windows. As Freddie approached his own door, he felt like he couldn’t breathe; but that had to be false because he could see the swirling puffs of heavy mist hanging about with every shallow pant he didn't consent to. He was almost too timid to turn the key. He’d never felt so utterly electrified.

Steadying himself, Freddie pulled in a deep inhale and pushed his door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, what ever will happen? If it's not glaringly obvious, the next chapter or two are ridiculously horny. There's so much sex that I'm a bit embarrassed tbh, but well, shit is weird for all of us right now ... at least we can still indulge ourselves with stuff like this.
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, lots of love ❤️ leave a comment or catch up with me on social media if you'd like;
> 
> deacury art (NSFW):  
> IG @valentinesebastianbach  
> twitter @vyalentine
> 
> SFW Queen art:  
> IG @vyalentine


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here until the end of the next chapter this is approximately 85% smut. Fair warning! I hope you enjoy it. ♡

Freddie didn’t announce himself as he stepped beyond the threshold of his flat.

He dragged his luggage in and shrugged his coat off, put his keys down and tugged off his boots. He hoped these noises were enough of an announcement. He couldn’t find his voice, it seemed.

 _Why am I so anxious? This is my flat._ He’d been so full of conviction and virility just moments before, and here he was talking to himself with short breath and a quickened pulse to complement it. It wasn’t as if he’d never made love to John before, or gone away and come back expecting some rather ravenous lovemaking afterwards for that matter. What was this new nervousness?

His throat was parched, he swallowed down the scratchy nothing realizing he needed to get some water; probably another side effect of the anxiety. And despite the chill, he swore he could feel sweat forming on his brow. _Did John not turn the heat on?_ The poor thing must be suffering. Or perhaps he’s hurt? Why in hell would he let it get so chilly in here? _Oh, God._ Freddie shook his hands out in an effort to dispel the irrational panic. In the rational bits of his mind he knew that John always preferred it colder than him, but rationality was nowhere to be found presently.

After fiddling with the thermostat, he made his way into the kitchen for a drink, taking note once again how foreign his home smelled after being away a while. The heated scent of dust burning on the pilot light offended his keen nose. It annoyed Freddie how every one of his senses seemed to be on fire right now. He assumed all of it was a result of giddy anticipation. Adrenaline. Excitation. Hormone induced madness. Was his blood pressure always this high? _God, who fucking knows._

“Freddie!” John exclaimed from the hall, pulling the singer out of his uncharacteristically nervous headspace. Hearing his boyfriend’s voice instantly made him feel at ease; he could breathe again. He was home. Hormones and unfounded anxiety be damned. John’s voice caught Freddie off guard and he nearly sputtered downing a sip of water.

He slammed the aluminum tumbler down recklessly, shouting “Oh my _God!_ Come here you!” throwing open his arms. They met halfway and embraced. Freddie (barely) picked up John and spun him around once as John covered his face in little kisses. It was ridiculous. John’s fluffy hair tickled his nose.

“I’ve missed you so much, Freddie.” John’s smile was genuine and sweet. Freddie suddenly wanted to just kiss and hold him for the rest of the night and not move a fucking inch. It was so nice to simply hug him again. It felt like sunshine. John _always_ felt like sunshine.

“Oh my sweetheart,” Freddie beamed and kissed his nose, his lips, his fingertips, his knuckles; he couldn’t get enough. “I’ve missed you too. I don’t know how I survived.”

John chuckled. “Was it really that bad? What happened?”

“Nothing _terrible_ really but I’ve missed you like crazy, dear. Please just let me be dramatic about it!”

“Mmmm. _Do_ be dramatic, but I feel like you’re forgetting something,” John met his eyes, cracking a smile. With a light tug he rolled Freddie’s thick silver rope necklace between his fingers.

Freddie’s expression turned playful and he felt a familiar heat rushing just under his skin. “Forget? Oh _heavens_ no.” He grabbed John’s hand, intertwining it with his own. “I didn’t want to be crude and immediately seduce you like I so desperately want to.”

John raised his brows with a daring expression, biting his lip. "Seduce me? Do go on Freddie."

“John … my love, what have you done?” Freddie whispered with a smirk in his tone, it was nearly a growl. “You’re a naughty, naughty boy. You can't imagine the horny hell I've endured.” Freddie kissed his hand demurely, a devious curl pulling at the edge of his lip. John giggled through his nose on an exhale. He was blushing. When their eyes met, Freddie cupped his face, kissing him eagerly and passionately until they were both feeling breathlessly drunk on their unquenchable need to simply have _more_ of each other.

“Tell me about it, Freddie,” John mumbled while kissing down the singer’s jaw and neck.

Freddie shuddered and gripped his shoulders as John’s lips left a stuttered wet path toward the soft skin of his collarbone. He pressed his eyelids shut and let the feeling take over. “I’ve missed you terribly darling, and I want to tell you everything, but I’m afraid you’ve worked me up to a fever pitch and I need to be all over you, as soon as possible.” His breathy words were rushed and scarcely coherent. The effect John’s surprise had on him was clear, and John was proud that it put Freddie in such a state. And he wanted to hear all about it.

“Well, did you like it?” John asked, chewing his lip with a devilish expression.

Freddie responded by pressing his crotch against John’s leg. The younger man let out a shaky, soft moan and closed his eyes, feeling Freddie’s aroused state stole the air from his lungs. He couldn’t help himself, his hand flew to touch it; it was warm and hard.

Freddie shuddered when he felt John's thumb trace along the ridge of his cock. “I think you achieved the result you were hoping for, dear.” He whispered, rubbing himself into the warmth of his palm. John pulled in a sharp breath and opened his eyes, pulling away to look Freddie in the face.

“It seems so,” he replied, running his palm against the length of Freddie’s erection, stroking him through his pants. Freddie leaned in to kiss him but John moved, he wouldn’t allow it. His expression was dark and sulttry, full of unspoken lust. To Freddie, the look was unmistakable and equally irresistible. John pushed Freddie backwards with the weight of his body, causing the singer’s back to thud dully against the living room wall.

 _“Fuck,”_ was all Freddie could offer.

“Mmm,” John grinned. “This isn’t quite what you think it is, Freddie.” John whispered against his mouth, pressing his own erection onto the dip of Freddie’s hip. The singer let out an incomprehensible stutter on his breath.

To say his interest was piqued was an understatement. “Hmm? What is it then? _Show me,”_ Freddie panted. He’d been horny for so long that even these simple, familiar touches already had him sounding wrecked.

“Come with me,” John bit into his boyfriend's lip before parting, Freddie winced, groaning in surprise. John pulled him into the bedroom, Freddie allowed himself to be taken.

~ ~ ~

Freddie was feeling unexpectedly timid again. He closed the bedroom door behind him and turned around to face John with a visible gulp. He exhaled, trying to ground himself.

“Come here, sit on the bed.”

Freddie swore he felt his blood get hotter, he obeyed. Once he was sat, John pushed him back while crawling on top of him. He pulled his shirt off and leaned down to kiss the singer, cupping his jaw.

John’s mouth was hot and wet, and his tongue slid easily between Freddie’s eager parted lips. He kissed and groaned into Freddie roughly, desperately, and it was returned in spades. He held his jaw and shoved his tongue in with a deep moan, he couldn’t get enough. And neither could Freddie. It felt like a dream.

The singer writhed under him, trying to reach for John’s backside. John gathered and pinned his wrists with one hand above Freddie’s head. _“No,”_ he said, moving down to suck on his neck. “You don't get to touch me,” he mumbled against his golden skin, and Freddie involuntarily bucked against him. This seduction was cruel even hours ago, Freddie didn’t expect this torture to get _worse._

“Wh–,” Freddie started. John’s mouth was on his again before he had a chance to verbally protest.

“I’m going to get off of you, and you’re going to take off all of your clothes for me.” He pulled away from Freddie’s mouth with a slippery suck. As he moved down Freddie’s body to leave the bed, he roughly pulled at the button on his pants and unzipped him. John slipped his fingers under Freddie's waistband and pulled down just far enough so that his erection sprang free.

“Oh my God … ah, _fuck,”_ Freddie threw his head back and gasped, feeling John’s lips close hotly around the tip of his cock. John moaned around his girth, sucking hard. Freddie moved his hips, pushing further into John’s mouth with a shudder, and the bassist felt sanctified. He welcomed it.

John knew what he wanted from this scenario, but Freddie’s hot, hard length being pushed into his throat was everything right now, he wanted to taste it, choke on it. He wanted to drive Freddie even crazier with lust. This may not have been in his plans for the night, but he wouldn’t deny himself this carnal, vulgar indulgence. He’d really missed him after all, and missed the way his body responded to him.

John pulled off of him breathlessly when he felt the head of his cock start to swell. He had to stop or Freddie would finish down his throat before they’d even gotten started. The singer groaned helplessly at the loss of wet and warmth.

John stroked him slowly, and teasingly licked up his length. He held eye contact, just to see how it affected his boyfriend. “You’re not allowed to cum yet, Freddie,” he said with another slippery lick up the underside of his shaft. Freddie furrowed his brows in surrender and moaned out his name as he felt John’s teeth gently biting at it, followed by wet, caressing lips. John pushed himself off of the bed and stood, watching Freddie squirm and fret. “Take off your clothes for me.”

Freddie’s breathing was erratic and he kept blinking. His straining cock was leaking involuntarily after John had sucked on it and left it to throb helplessly. _Jesus,_ Freddie thought, knowing this was going to be a new, fresh kind of hell (and heaven, honestly) for him.

He slowly pushed his pants and briefs off, staring down John the whole time. Or perhaps it’s more correct to say that it was Freddie receiving the stare-down. He simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from John’s hungry, possessive gaze. It felt like a game, and both of them were eager to play.

John narrowed his eyes impatiently. “I’m not going to help you. Hurry up. Do you want to get fucked or not?”

Freddie felt a defiant fire rip through him, and he did not in fact, speed up. He did smirk though, while shimmying out of his jacket. Once he’d peeled it off, he bit his lip enticingly and started unbuttoning his shirt, keeping eye contact. He spread his legs wide to keep his audience captivated.

The bassist had to admit that Freddie looked nothing short of adorable, sinful and delicious. _Slutty_ summed it up rather well and he was aching to possess him physically.

The singer's cocky attitude only steeled John’s conviction, though. “You aren’t making this any easier on yourself, Freddie. I can promise you that.”

Freddie lithely slid his shirt off of his shoulders, cocking an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do to me?” He put his weight on his arms behind him, leaving his knees up and legs wide. He pushed his chest out, he was breathing heavily. The weight of this game of seduction kept him breathless.

“Nothing you don’t want, I’m sure,” John snarked. Freddie watched as John went to the closet, pulling out some silk ties and a roll of black velvet ribbon from a box.

_Oh._

Freddie blinked and wet his lips in anticipation. He knew now. He thought he did at least. He felt his heart skip a beat. He recognized that ribbon.

John sighed, “Or nothing at all, depending on how you behave.” He turned to the singer and beckoned with a smirk. “Come here. Sit on the edge of the bed for me.”

Freddie did as asked, scooting to the edge. John nudged himself between his bare legs as Freddie stared up at him, trying to disguise a needy, but timid smile. He felt like he was buzzing.

“I’ve never seen you at such a loss for words, Freddie.” John said with a coy grin, laying the would-be restraints onto the bed. He then held Freddie’s face in both his hands, caressing the hollows of his cheeks with his broad thumbs. Freddie closed his eyes with a shudder. He didn’t know how to reply. The anticipation felt like a razor on fire gouging away at his psyche.

“What can I even say, darling? After what you've done.”

John leaned to kiss him. “If nothing else, at least don’t forget the safe word, okay?” He whispered.

 _“Denim._ Yes, I’d never forget such an awful thing.”

John smiled. “Good. You’d best not to.” He kissed Freddie again and it became fevered, quickly. Freddie was already molten with need and John had almost gotten lost in it, forgetting his plans. It felt like forever since he’d _really_ made love to Freddie, and it was extremely hard for him to remain _in character_ with the neediness for his touch he was feeling. He suddenly felt overcome with it all and tried his hardest not to melt and lose all his damned conviction. “Freddie, I love you,” John smiled, nipping at the singer’s lip.

“Oh my God, I love you so much, sweetheart,” Freddie wanted to keep kissing him, he wanted everything right now. He felt magnetized.

 _“Fuck._ I’ve missed you so badly, Freddie. I need you.”

Freddie rolled his eyes back, John’s tongue was on his neck. “Take me, do whatever you want. I’m yours.”

With an extreme amount of effort, John was able to detach himself from Freddie. He stood between his legs, breathing hard. “Take off my pants, I want to see my cock on your tongue.”

 _"Mmm,"_ Freddie moaned through his nose. Freddie lost whatever lingering timidness he had, pulling open John’s button and unzipping his pants. He pulled both his pants and undergarments off in the same quick movement. Freddie went breathless, seeing John’s throbbing erection. He couldn’t wait to get it in his mouth, and he didn’t.

He wrapped his palm around the shaft and pulled John closer with the other by his waist. John moaned, and the singer felt him place his hands on his head, gently gripping into his coarse, raven-colored hair.

At first, he only kissed at it. Like a fetish at an altar during prayer. It probably looked like worship, and maybe it was. Freddie relished the texture of John’s heated, pulsating skin against his dry lips. It was hard as stone under the surface, but the skin itself felt like the finest velvet. He groaned, then flattened his tongue, licking against the underside his full length. The heat on his tongue drove him mad. He couldn’t wait to take him all in. John's moaning and his nails raking into his scalp only encouraged him.

Freddie moved his head around, swiping his tongue broadly across the backside of it, lapping at his length but never fully taking him into his mouth. The slippery mixture of saliva and salty pre-cum was smearing sloppily all over his lips, cheeks and chin. Freddie groaned, it was so lusciously whorish of a display, it made his own cock throb. He looked up into John’s stormy eyes and was overcome with new fervor. He not only wanted, but felt like he _needed_ to please John.

“Suck on it.” John demanded breathlessly, meeting his gaze, and against his best efforts, saying the words made his cheeks burn.

 _God. Yes._ Finally. Freddie eagerly took in his length with a moan. John found himself pushing deeper into Freddie's throat in very little time. There was no preamble or ramp up really, he fucked into his mouth and Freddie encouraged it.

“Oh .. _hh, God.”_ John stuttered out, gripping hard into Freddie’s hair as his humming throat accepted him fully. Freddie was miraculously under little duress. He took great pride in his deep-throating skills; it was something that John was not shy to take advantage of, and Freddie loved it, really.

 _"Fuck,_ you're so good at this.” John said, punctuating it with a deep thrust into his throat. Freddie’s eyes rolled back with a groan, saliva and pre-cum dripping off of his chin as John pushed into and out of his wet, ready mouth repeatedly. Some of that wetness dripped from his chin onto his cock, making it twitch with desperate need. John slowly pulled out and pushed back into him a few more times before abandoning his throat completely. The way Freddie sucked his cock so fervently left him trembling.

Chest heaving, Freddie wiped his mouth and looked up at John with a look so intense and needy that the bassist feared he might be set aflame. It only served to elevate his own desires, though. He leaned down to give Freddie a fevered, wet kiss. He moaned into his mouth, tasting his own fluids on the singer’s insatiable tongue.

“I hope you enjoyed that, Freddie,” John teased. “You aren’t allowed to touch me anymore tonight.”

Freddie furrowed his brows, still quite breathless. He’d been desperate to touch and satisfy John for hours, especially after seeing those pictures. Pictures with tempting captions such as _‘Please touch me’._

_Fuck._

Freddie huffed and sighed. John smirked with a chuckle.

 _“Johnnnnn,”_ Freddie groaned impatiently. “You’re killing me. What have I done to deserve this? Don’t be a tyrant!”

“Shhh. Lay back.”

He did so. _Of course he did. He loved being told what to do in bed._

“Arms,” John said, “Above your head.”

Freddie thought his heart might burst if it beat any faster.

“I’m restraining you, if it’s not obvious. _But ..._ I’m granting you enough freedom to mess this all up,” John said, gently binding his wrists together in a figure-8 pattern. “If you touch or disobey me you’ll be jerking off alone.” He checked his work, tugging on his wrist restraints. He looked pleased. “Got it?”

Freddie nodded and swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Tell me.”

“Y-yes. I’ve got it. I won’t touch you.” Freddie wasn’t sure whether he wanted to roll his eyes, pout, or sing a hymnal about how amazing his boyfriend was.

“Good.”

 _“Jesus,_ John. This is just cruel. Pure evil.”

“Is it really?” John smiled, moving to his feet. He bound his ankles in the same fashion. When he was done, John patted his thigh dismissively. “Sit up. I want your eyes on me.”

Freddie managed to prop himself against the headboard without much help from his hands. Thankfully he’d left a swathe of big plump pillows on the bed to assist him. He watched helplessly as John sat at the edge of the bed with his back turned to him, doing _something._

He felt his breath evaporate in his lungs when John stood and turned to him. He’d put on thigh high, sheer, black stockings, and tied his cock daintily with a black velvet bow. Freddie could only gawk. His jaw hung open, he had no words.

“Are you comfortable?” John asked, crawling toward him across the bed. His voice was steely, but he couldn't disguise the blush on his cheeks.

“John ... oh wow. Umm. I, uhh.” Freddie tried. He couldn’t think, he felt like he couldn’t breathe either, seeing John like this. “In what way, dear?”

“In the way that I’m going to sit on your lap and ride your cock until you cum.”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” _he lied._ Freddie swallowed hard. “Oh my God, John. What is this? What are you up to?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” John asked, straddling him. He scooted himself up, putting his weight on his knees. Freddie looked up at him, he still felt out of breath. John’s demeanor dazzled him, besides.

 _Jesus._ John looked _too_ good. _Fuck._

The singer was truly worried he wouldn’t be able to keep his word. How could he possibly keep his hands off of John like this? And worse, he knew he was already on edge, for a very long time now. Did his boyfriend really expect him to keep his composure?

John put a hand against the headboard to steady himself as he knelt in front of Freddie’s mouth. Freddie was breathing hard, and John was taking his time, making this torture utterly exquisite ( _awful_ ). “Open your mouth for me, hold out your tongue.”

Freddie did as asked, with upturned, furrowed brows. Freddie looked so desperate and beautiful, the bassist hummed delightedly, musing to himself. John bit his lip, hovering above him. He grasped his own erection and gave it a few strokes, urging a bit of liquid to show at the tip. “You’re not allowed to suck it. Just hold out your tongue like a good boy.”

John thudded his shaft against Freddie’s cheek. He pressed it against his lips and tongue, just using it as a debauchery tool, really. Freddie groaned out with pleasure, squirming under him.

“You look like a whore,” he grinned. “I love it.” He slapped his wet cock on Freddie’s cheekbone. “Do you like being slutty for me?” He asked, wiping a fresh string of pre-cum on Freddie’s tongue. The singer moaned and nodded, breathing heavily. “Mmm, I know you do.” He held Freddie’s jaw open with one hand and pressed his cock onto his tongue with the other.

“You want me to cum in your mouth, don't you?” John whispered with a grin. He traced the perimeter of Freddie’s lips with his cock. It left a lovely wet trail that Freddie licked at with a frustrated and decadent moan.

Looking up at John he again nodded, silently praying for permission to wrap his lips around his boyfriend's lush cock once again. He didn’t receive that permission though- John pulled away from him cruelly with smug smirk.

“Too bad.”

John instead lowered himself, and spat on Freddie’s reddened, needy erection. It lurched in response, and the bassist grabbed it to spread the wetness around with his palm. Freddie moaned and squinted his eyes at the sensation, biting his lip to keep from shouting. John then spat on his own fingers to ready himself. He fingered himself for a few moments, it made his breath short and caused a blush to show on his cheeks. The singer could barely stand to look- John’s hair framed his face so angelically as he panted on top of him, stretching himself for Freddie’s cock. He looked like he knew what he wanted and was just fucking taking it, and somehow that was the hottest thing Freddie could imagine.

“Make no mistake, Freddie,” he said while settling, maneuvering himself down and back, rubbing the head of Freddie’s cock against his asshole. “Your cock will be inside me but I’ll be the one fucking _you.”_

Freddie curled his toes and gasped, John really wasn’t fucking around. _“John_ .. ah, mmm, _fuck … fuck,”_ was all he could offer in the way of words as he felt John’s tight heat clenching down around his girth. It took his breath away. Freddie’s eyes rolled back and he groaned.

John hissed sharply at the burning intrusion. This endeavor wasn’t exactly comfortable for him, especially with no proper warmup, but he was managing. He put his hands on Freddie’s chest to balance himself as Freddie penetrated, stretching him, going ever deeper. John pulled in a sharp gasp, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest made it evident that Freddie’s size was still something quite formidable for him.

“Don’t cum Freddie,” John breathed out through clenched teeth as he got used to his size. “I need you hard.”

When John finally got used to the feeling--and it did take some time—he began slowly rocking his hips against Freddie. John’s filthy sounding gasps and moans were involuntary, but he was definitely aware of the effect his vocals had on Freddie and he used it to his advantage.

Freddie had to force himself to think of anything else. _Anything._ This was too much. To make matters worse, John was staring him down; it almost seemed like he was daring the singer to fuck up and finish too quickly. Freddie screwed his eyes shut and whimpered. If he'd had use of his hands, at least he'd be able to keep John from moving so much. He turned his head and thrashed weakly, his body and his mind were in two completely different places; his body desperately craved release but he _really_ didn’t want to disappoint John and have an involuntary orgasm.

John pulled his jaw to face him and Freddie whined in resignation. “Look at me.” And Freddie did, the expression on his face was a mixture of everything from bliss to agony. “I _told_ you I was going to use you when I got back.” John’s breathing was shaky as he ground his ass into Freddie’s hips.

The singer mumbled something frustratedly, helplessly. John smiled. “Did you enjoy those pictures I took for you, Freddie?”

With a groan the singer replied _“God_ yes, I don’t know whether to kill you or praise you for it. You have no idea what that did to me.” He rolled his eyes back, trying desperately not to think of those pictures, as if John gyrating in his lap wasn’t enough.

“You know … that was the night I showed you that filthy magazine,” John quaked, bucking his hips and moaning. “That night I gave you a handjob while fingering you? You came _so much,_ Freddie. It was so fucking hot.” His eyelids dropped and his voice took on a deep lusty tone, it was dripping with sex. “When you fell asleep I jerked myself off in your guest room. Do you want to know what I thought of?”

Freddie grit his teeth and withheld a loud groan. “Please don’t tell me John, oh my God.” He could feel his orgasm coming on, the familiar thrum in his gut was beyond his control.

“I thought of you … seeing those pictures … being hard and unable to do anything about it.” He trembled, “I thought of your cock leaking against your leg while you suffered, wanting to fuck me but having to wait.” John threw his head back and let his jaw hang open as a fresh litany of breathy moans spilled from his throat. He ground himself on Freddie, his cock was brushing against his prostate at just the right angle. John’s dick was pumping out copious pre-cum with each thrust.

Freddie clenched his jaw frustratedly. “John … fuck. I can’t … _I can’t. I’m-”_

“Mmm?” John teased, roughly grinding Freddie down into the mattress. His pink erect cock (still tied with a lovely black bow) was bouncing on Freddie’s stomach, leaving little splotches of wetness every time it hit him. John groaned involuntarily with a shudder, _“Fuck,_ Freddie. Your cock is so thick. ” John felt utterly impaled on the thing, and it was taking all of his effort to not keep riding him until he came, but he wanted to use some restraint.

John knew his words were weapons; he was well aware. Freddie was in ruins, just as he had hoped for. Freddie shuddered, he wasn’t kidding. He really _couldn’t._ “John, darling, oh my God. Please … you’re too hot, I .. please … slow down, _shit.”_

“What’s wrong Freddie?” John moaned, gyrating and grinding back hard onto Freddie’s cock. “Are you already close?” He lilted, leaning in and licking his neck, moaning against his flushed skin. He pinched and pulled at Freddie’s nipple for emphasis, lowering his mouth to bite and suck on it.

Freddie whined, “Fuck! John … oh _God_ … I, I don’t want to,” he whimpered, helpless. He groaned, but it was more of a growl really. It sounded like the death rattle of a great warrior facing inevitable, unjust defeat.

Truthfully, keeping this act up was hard for John. He _wanted_ Freddie to let go. He wanted Freddie to fill him up, he wanted his hot slippery fluids inside of him and he wanted it to be fucked right back out of him too. John couldn’t help but feel a bit bad about it, even though he knew that Freddie was enjoying this under all the agony. John was aware that Freddie had been suffering for hours at this point, and mercifully, he decided to take a bit of pity on his poor boyfriend who’d endured all of this so valiantly.

He captured Freddie’s lips in a quick but heated kiss. “Bring your arms here,” John said. Freddie lowered his arms with a whine and John quickly untied them, throwing the length of ribbon off the bed. _“This_ is temporary,” he said breathlessly. He grabbed Freddie’s hands and placed them on his hips. He leaned down again, to whisper in Freddie’s ear. “Now fuck me hard and fill me up.”

Freddie shuddered with a groan and felt all his hair stand on end at John’s lascivious words. He dug his nails into John’s skin and gripped his hips tight. He thrusted into him fast and hard from below, growling and panting. The slapping of skin on skin was loud and wet, their sounds filled the room. 

“Oh _God,_ oh my God,” Freddie ground his teeth as he felt his peak approaching. “John ... fuck, ah, _ah.”_

 _“Cum for me,”_ John hissed out desperately as he dug his nails into Freddie's shoulders, _"Fuck me like you mean it and fill me up.”_ Getting words out wasn’t easy, Freddie was fucking into him deep and hard, finally able to grab on and pound into him recklessly. John could only roll his eyes back and hold on limply as Freddie took full advantage of being untied. John felt like he was being split in half, it felt like what the word sin was created for. Pain and pleasure. The bassist felt so thoroughly senselessly fucked out that he could barely make a sound. He'd begun to drool a bit, it seemed unreal that Freddie’s cock could be _that_ big. John swore he saw stars as his hair bounced and stuck to his sweaty shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut with a whine and surrendered, letting Freddie take him fully.

"Oh God, John, _fuck,"_ Freddie let out a loud guttural groan and came with one final, deep thrust, spilling himself deep into him. After a moment his hips kept jerking, snapping up into John's limp body and he grunted and moaned with each hammering thrust. His long-delayed release was intense, and very wet. Freddie shuddered, stuttering and grunting as he rode it out and came down, his thick nails leaving crescent shaped red marks in the soft skin of John's hips. It left the singer completely out of breath, sweaty and heaving.

After it was clear that Freddie was done, John crumpled, allowing himself to fall onto the singer’s chest. He too was out of breath and glistening with sweat. His thigh and ass muscles were sore from clenching.

They lay there trembling and panting. “John. Sweetheart ...” Freddie was totally blissed out, unable to convey a coherent thought.

“Shh ... don’t talk Freddie, just relax.” John kissed his neck sweetly and felt Freddie hum lazily against his lips. He swirled his fingers through the hair patterns on Freddie's chest until the singer's breathing sounded steady, then pushed himself off of his chest. Freddie smiled at him and John squeezed his hand. “I’ll be right back, love," he said, then left the room quietly.

Freddie nodded and just lay there. He didn’t feel like moving, and it was a good thing because his ankles were still bound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to chop this chapter in half! I can't believe I'm saying this, but this amount of sex in one chapter was too much even for me, a whore. Thankfully I'm done editing it all though and I can finally call this finished. I'll post the final chapter in a few days once I've read it over again. Between the writing and art blocks, this year has felt like a fucking creative gauntlet, all self-isolation aside. It's is a beast I am struggling with, as I am sure a lot of you are too. Hang in there ~ lots of love, and big thanks for reading ♡


	4. Chapter 4

Freddie’s eyes snapped open when he felt John’s hand gently caressing his thigh. John was leaning over him.

“Are you okay Freddie? How are you holding up?” John whispered, smiling at him lovingly. He wasn’t _in character_ right now. For now he was just regular, sweet, caring boyfriend John. He just happened to be wearing thigh highs and a black ribbon on his dick still. He handed Freddie a glass of water.

“Thank you love, yes, I’m more than okay.” He swallowed down the rest of the water in a few mighty gulps. “Good _Lord._ I don’t even know what to say. Did I fall asleep?” He propped himself up on both elbows. “Where did you go?”

“Well,” John laughed as he sat himself next to Freddie, “I don’t want to be _crass_ but, you know … cleanup.”

_“Oh my God._ Right. I’m so sorry darling … I should’ve-”

“Freddie … _stop!”_ He laughed. “I told you to do it. I _wanted_ it.”

The singer squinted his eyes and grinned at John. He hummed with approval. “Come here sweetheart, kiss me.”

John laid next to him; they melted back into each other with soft, sweet kisses. “You know,” He rubbed himself against Freddie’s hip, making it clear that he was still very much excited. “I’m not done with you yet, Freddie.”

Freddie laughed. “Oh, you frisky little thing. Wh- you know what? I won’t even ask. I’m sure it will be divine.”

_“Shut up,”_ John giggled, throwing his leg over Freddie and reaching to caress his cock again. He nestled his face into the singer’s hair with what could be described as a lusty _purr._ “I’m still going to fuck you, you know.” John’s breath fanning his neck and his thin lengthy fingers softly circling the head of his dick were already doing things to him.

“Mmm,” Freddie moaned with a smile. John’s breath tickled, it sent strands of hair flying on his neck. _“God,_ I love you,” he breathed. Spent cock or not, getting fucked was a sport he adored. Sooner than he could’ve predicted, he felt that familiar rush of blood and desire pooling in his gut. He was defenseless in John’s hands and he knew it- John knew it too.

“I know,” John replied with a grin.

“You’re so _cocky._ I love it. Never change.”

John shrugged, smiling in response as Freddie gathered him up in his arms. “Really Freddie, I’m just an arsehole,” he laughed, and Freddie found his lips with his own.

“You’re _my_ arsehole,” Freddie smiled against his mouth. After a bit of very sensual cuddling and slow kissing, John untangled himself from Freddie and stood. Freddie used his blessedly free hand to slap his ass as he walked to the other side of the bed to retrieve the bottle of lube.

Freddie watched on fondly as John rummaged around in the side table drawer. He looked waifish- he was such a thin, beautiful man. He was much stronger than he looked, too. His fluffy hair framed his face as he leaned in and cursed under his breath. Everything about him seemed to be a juxtaposition. A puzzle, but in the same breath not at all.

Not.

At.

_All._

To anyone who really knew him, at least. There was never any pretense with the bassist, he wore his feelings on his sleeve for better or worse- and if he didn’t like you, you knew it. Freddie felt fortunate to be on the opposite end of that spectrum. 

The singer told himself that this was no time to be fawning over John’s quirks or understated allure, and the John he showed nobody but Freddie- but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to relish every moment he could get with him. John was his muse, after all. Freddie sighed internally and smiled. Maybe these fluffy feelings were a part of his post-orgasm pink haze, but Freddie let it take him regardless.

With a satisfied smirk, John pushed the drawer closed and sauntered over to Freddie after he found what he was looking for. “Untie my cock.” And Freddie did just that, meeting John’s hungry gaze as he did it. The length of black ribbon fell to the floor. John handed him the lubrication. “Hold onto this.”

Before Freddie had the mind to say something sarcastic, John was untying his ankles and settling between his legs. He hooked his hands around Freddie’s thighs to pull him closer. And in the next moment he was lowering his head and licking, pressing his warm tongue against Freddie’s tight entrance. It was the last thing the singer was expecting, somehow, and the suddenness of it felt _filthy as sin._

Freddie’s eyelids fluttered shut and he let out a loud cry in surprise. _“John,”_ he moaned, spreading his legs further, angling his hips to feel more of John’s hot mouth on him. John groaned, feeling Freddie’s tight ring of muscles flex around his tongue.

The feeling of John’s stubble on his soft thighs made Freddie gasp, his legs quivered at the sensation. Seeing John between his legs, feeling his deep moans against his skin, licking so ardently at his _most_ private of parts- it tore through Freddie and went straight to his core, turning him into a helpless, moaning mess.

“J- John … fingers .. _please,”_ Freddie choked out. He desperately wanted to feel John’s agile fingers inside of him, and thankfully the bassist was more than willing to oblige. He didn’t respond with words, but Freddie did hear him moan with approval, then spit on his hand- and in the next moment he felt those slick fingers pressing into him. Freddie whimpered, biting his lip. His slippery entrance _was_ a bit tight, but honestly, Freddie liked it to be a bit of a struggle. John didn’t feel the need to be particularly gentle; it was clear that Freddie very much wanted this, judging by how he was pushing himself onto John’s fingers.

Seeing how easily the singer gasped, bowed and writhed beneath him brought something out of John. Something primal and indecent. It honed his lust into one singular and pointed conviction; _fuck him._

Freddie’s mind was flooded, explosive with pleasure. He could do little more than whine and moan incoherently as John’s fingers pressed into him with purposeful resolve. With one hand, two of John’s fingers were stuffed to the hilt inside Freddie, with his other hand he gripped the base of his cock, taking it into his mouth on impulse. John moaned around it, lapping at the head of it as he slid his fingertips against the singer’s prostate. Freddie yelped and shuddered, letting out desperate sounding high pitched _‘mm, mm, aah’_ noises. Everything about Freddie right now was screaming sex, and John needed to have it. He wanted to possess him.

The bassist felt insatiably ravenous for him, drunk on him. He pulled off of his cock with a long lick to the underside and a soft suck at the tip. John loved the way it felt in his mouth, the shape of it, the weight and girth of it. He could suck off Freddie all day if he’d so wanted it. Freddie mewled and writhed beneath him as John removed his fingers from his tight heat. As John pulled back, a silvery trail of saliva fell down his chin; with the back of a hand he slowly wiped it away, gazing at Freddie from beneath his browline. “Get my cock wet,” he said on a shallow exhale. John’s chest was heaving and his face reddened, it was clear he was losing composure. 

For all the hell he’d put Freddie through, holding out was not easy for him either. “I’m going to fuck you.”

An excited shudder ripped through Freddie as he stroked a generous amount of lubrication onto John’s hardness. It throbbed in his hands as he caressed it slowly, the heat on John’s skin leaving him feeling weak. He’d been ravenous to touch him.

“Oh _God …_ please, _please_ fuck me.” Freddie was panting with anticipation. He didn’t expect to be fully aroused again so soon, but he found himself utterly bewitched by John’s demands and his hot, impatient glances. The painfully short blowjob didn’t hurt either.

“Turn on your side, put your arms behind your back.” Freddie obeyed, he felt John retying those restraints on his arms–differently this time though. Instead of his arms being tied wrist to wrist, John tied them overlapping, so that each hand could grab the opposite elbow if he wanted. Unexpectedly, he felt John putting something over his eyes as well. He wrapped a long length of the velvet ribbon around his head and tied it behind his head. Freddie could see a little bit, _but that wasn’t the point._ The point, of course, was the debauchery. His ankles were still bound, a bit loose, but that mattered not. Freddie loved being tied and had no plans of resisting.

John cornered the bed and laid down behind him. He pulled Freddie close, spooning him, reaching between his legs to pull on his cock. The singer arched back with a groan, pushing his ass against John. He felt his breath escape him in a shaky huff as John attended him with the lightest of touches. Being blindfolded really was quite … _exposing._

“You look so good like this Freddie. I’m tempted to take pictures just so you can see,” he whispered from behind into his ear. The singer groaned as John’s fingertips traced and caressed his hardness gently. It tickled, made it twitch. “Mmm,” John growled in his ear. “I can’t wait that long though. I’m going to fuck you, I want to cum.”

Freddie arched his back and shuddered, letting out a sharp exhale. _“Use me.”_

“I plan to.” And with that, he pushed the slippery head of his cock into Freddie, who gasped and clenched tight around him.

Freddie groaned and trembled, “More … _please,”_ He panted helplessly, trying to get John to move against him. But John had him firmly by the hips and wouldn’t give him what he wanted.

John pulled Freddie closer, pushing his cock just a little further in. Freddie moaned and shook, opening up for him. The bassist was bewildered at how Freddie’s body was giving so much to him _again,_ and so soon. It made him feel virile and powerful. He growled hungrily, Freddie’s erratic breath and high pitched moans were picking apart what was left of his composure.

_“I love fucking you,”_ John hissed into his ear, pushing his cock in deep and slow. Freddie shivered and groaned. He couldn’t reply with words. It felt too good, unreal, akin to a religious experience. As much as Freddie loved _finishing,_ being stuffed full of John’s cock was another thing entirely. There was nothing like it.

Freddie felt like he was falling apart, it was nothing short of divine. John pumped into him slow and deep, and Freddie fell into a trance of sorts. He concentrated on his breathing, the sounds, and the delicious raw sting of John’s nails biting into the soft skin of his hips. Freddie _hoped_ it would leave scars.

John groaned, sinking into Freddie’s heat at an agonizingly slow pace. The singer desperately wanted him to go faster, as each thrust was hitting his prostate and it just felt … really, _really_ good. His breathing hitched every time the head of John’s dick brushed against it. He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard.

He felt John shifting behind him, moving his hand to Freddie’s hair, pushing it aside. “Freddie,” John’s warm breath skittered across the skin of his neck and he trembled. “I want to feel you cum around my cock,” he whispered. When the singer groaned in response, John inserted three fingers into his open, needy mouth. Freddie readily sucked them sloppily, moaning loud around his fingers, taking anything he could get.

When John removed his fingers he pulled back hard on Freddie’s hair, exposing his throat. Freddie yelped with indulgent delight. _“Fuck_ … make me cum,” he choked out, pleading, “John, _please_ … fuck me harder.” Freddie was breathing hard, exhaling through his teeth in desperation. He keened, arching himself into John’s thrusts and John met him, finally fucking him hard and fast like he so desperately craved.

John’s still-wet fingers trailed down to meet Freddie’s neck where he paused. He traced the delicate skin there with his fingertips, considering whether or not he should throttle him. He spread his fingers across his throat, lightly digging into his skin with short nails.

The singer moaned and whined, the slight thrill of danger was too exciting. “Wrap your hands around my throat,” Freddie cried out breathlessly, _“do it,”_ he pleaded. So John did.

Coupled with being blindfolded, bound and getting roughly fucked from behind, being choked was a perfect addition to his debauchery. Or, he thought it was. When he felt John’s hand wrap around his cock, a new definition of perfect came into existence and the singer felt the earth fall out from under him.

Freddie gasped, rolling his eyes up into what felt like oblivion. He was enraptured; John pumped at his cock in time with the fucking, and Freddie knew he wouldn’t last much longer. John threw a leg over him and the angle changed a bit, his cock was now rutting against Freddie’s prostate again and it was fucking over- Freddie clenched his jaw and felt all his breath escape him as another intense orgasm overtook him.

“John .. oh God, _Fuck!”_ He sobbed out, pleasure wracking his body. He shook, and John kept fucking him through it. What was left of his cum pumped out weakly, splattering the sheets, trickling between John’s fingers. His cock kept throbbing, spasming dryly as John continued to fuck him recklessly.

_“Mmm,_ yes,” John breathed, grabbing Freddie’s hips to slam harder into him while Freddie’s orgasm caused him to clench down hard around John’s cock. _“Ah ..._ fuck, I’m cumming Freddie, _fuck,”_ John grit his teeth with a growl. He thrust into the singer hard and went still, holding him close as he climaxed. Freddie’s tightening ass milked his cock, he was helpless to it. His orgasm was so intense that he’d nearly cried involuntarily. He held onto Freddie for dear life as he finished, pumping into him until he felt completely empty, physically and metaphorically.

John shook behind Freddie as they both came down. He hastily removed all of Freddie’s tyings and blindfold as soon as he had a singular clear thought. He wanted to see Freddie’s eyes, he wanted to know he was okay. He wanted to cuddle, too.

Freddie turned to face him once he was free to move. He pushed John’s sweaty hair off of his cheek and smiled at him, caressing his jawline fondly.

“Are you okay, Freddie?” John looked at him earnestly, breathing heavily. He’d never been so rough with him and worried that Freddie might’ve just been politely tolerating such debauchery.

Freddie pulled him close, wrapping him into his chest.

“Oh honey. Of _course._ That was … well, honestly I don’t have words yet, but I assure you, they will be good words.”

John still wasn’t sure if the singer was just being polite to make him feel better about it all. “Are you _sure?_ I feel like I should be apologizing. Was that too much?”

Freddie giggled on an exhale. “Too much _what?_ You have no idea how much I enjoyed that, sweetheart. Every agonizing fucking minute of it. That was easily the best fuck of my life.”

That put the bassist at ease. He hummed with a smile, burrowing his face into Freddie’s fuzzy chest. “I love you … _so_ much,” he mumbled. He wrapped his arms around the singer and Freddie returned the gesture; he held him close, stroking his hair.

“I love you John,” he laced their fingers together, bringing John’s hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “I will love you until the very last breath leaves my body.”

John unburied his face from his chest, looking into his eyes, “I hope so.” He kissed his jaw, then his neck, then his lips. When their eyes met again they just gazed contentedly at each other for a bit.

Freddie sighed happily, a deep groan vibrating his chest. “No need for hope dear, that’s just how it is.” He tapped John’s shoulder in an effort to signal that he needed to get up, but John just held him tighter.

“Noooo,” he fussed. “Please don’t go Freddie.”

“John. My sweetest love.” He held his face in his hands. “Did you … _forget?”_

“Forget what?”

Freddie cleared his throat. _“Darling._ You came in my butt.”

John furrowed his brows and blinked at the singer looking mildly horrified. “I _did?”_

“Wh- are you? Are you serious?” Freddie looked at him, real confusion distorting his features.

John cracked a smile and laughed, kissing Freddie. “No, of course not.”

_“Oh_ you little shit, let me go!” He laughed, freeing himself from John and a tangle of sheets, nearly tripping himself trying to get away.

John smacked his ass as he stomped by, causing Freddie to yelp. “Don’t _spill_ any on the way,” he shouted after him.

He heard Freddie scoff, then yell from the bathroom, “You are vile!” John laughed to himself. “If any was spilled you are cleaning it. It’s yours after all. My _God,_ you are disgusting.”

John considered this and had to agree, though the thought of it actually happening embarrassed the life out of him. With a grimace (following an armpit sniff), John realized he needed a shower. And should probably change the sheets. He knew Freddie would appreciate both of those things.

John met his boyfriend in the bathroom and tugged him into the shower with him. There were a lot of laughs, and a lot of Freddie exclaiming about the various ways his mind had been blown by John’s long game seduction plan. John thought he might evaporate from the embarrassment, now that it was all said and done. But that’s not to say he wasn’t pleased with the outcome.

Hindsight was always a bit … humbling. Even chastising perhaps. But Freddie’s enthusiasm was electric, and gratifying. Of course he’d do it again, in a heartbeat. Even though the thought of some of the things he’d said turned him scarlet and caused his pulse to gallop.

After showering and some tea, they huddled together in bed under fresh linen sheets and a comforter. John held onto Freddie like a small spoon, until the singer turned to face him.

“You know, John, I was thinking.” Freddie’s brows were furrowed in thought.

“Mmm? About what?” He ran a lazy hand through the hair on Freddie’s chest as he spoke.

“I want new drapes in here. Don’t you think this pattern is a bit old fashioned?” John looked. There were actually a lot of windows in Freddie’s bedroom, he’d never taken note. And the pattern _was_ busy. He’d never thought of it before but was now wondering why Freddie ever would’ve chosen them. They were yellow, _ish._ Mustardy. Very 60s, but in the tacky and not-at-all charming way. They rather looked like _ticking_ for feather pillows. He wrinkled his nose, deciding that _no,_ he did not like these drapes.

“I was thinking of going with something more regal. Maybe a velvet … or a silk … something unpatterned. Or, perhaps a dupioni silk … or a burnout velvet?”

“I think that sounds lovely, Freddie. Either. I think … I hate these current drapes.”

Freddie chortled at John’s enthusiasm. “Should I go with brown?”

John made a face. “Brown curtains?” He chuckled. “Dear God, _why?”_

Freddie furrowed his brow amusedly. “Dear. I read in an interview that brown was your favorite color. Was it a lie?”

John laughed louder than Freddie expected and it startled him. “I was wondering if you’d ever see that. Apparently you didn’t understand it. In any case, when are we ever honest with the press?” Freddie blinked at him, totally lost. “It’s always a bit tongue in cheek, yeah?” He winked at Freddie, as if there were context that he’d missed.

Freddie didn’t understand and it bothered him.

_“Yes_ of course _,_ but … why did you say _brown,_ John! I don’t get the reference.”

_“Really?_ You don’t know? It’s so bloody obvious. To me.”

Freddie gave him a very pointed look. _“John.”_

John shimmied up close to him and held his face, he gave Freddie a very soft kiss then buried his face into the crook of his neck. “I was thinking of your eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally this is done! I apologize it took me longer than expected to get this last bit posted. Last week was not my best, mentally. Anyhow ~ I hope you liked this decadent filth. Mostly I hope my dear friend Nadia likes it since I wrote it for them <3 I can't end any filth without making it super fluffy, it seems. Take care everyone, I'll be working on The Night Comes Down again soon- I have no idea how it's been 6 months already, I feel terrible about that. Love to you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Good news! This short story is completely done, but I'm going to space out posting it as I continue editing the rest. It should end up being three or four chapters.
> 
> I wrote this as a thank you (for many things, really) for my dear friend nymph_in_mellow, who makes beautiful, sensual deacury art and posts it to Instagram under the same name. I'm not sure I nailed their request tbh, but I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless <3


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